


D.E.N.N.I.S

by DollBones



Series: The D.E.N.N.I.S Files [1]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Cognitive Dissonance, Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollBones/pseuds/DollBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the years, Dennis has maintained psychological dossiers on every member of the Gang.  Including himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	D.E.N.N.I.S

**Author's Note:**

> This is the introduction to my new series: The D.E.N.N.I.S Files, in which I plan to describe every miserable, sordid detail of this man's multi-layered insanity all in one place. This will be fun. :)

_What do you do with any new information?  You shove it deep down and you keep an eye on it._

 

Dennis Reynolds was not a man inclined towards self-reflection.  Unless of course it was the sort of reflection that involved staring into a mirror and marveling at how great his hair looked.  Why bother thinking about shit?  Really, what was the use of miring oneself down with heavy subject matter?  Icky, subterranean, intangible thoughts and feelings.  Please.  Dennis preferred the physical things in life, things he could touch and fuck and suck as much pleasure from as possible.  He didn't see the point in dredging up old memories.  The past was past, don't focus on stuff that already happened and focus on what's happening right now.

When he ever desired to engage in reflection, it was almost always focused on the people he called his friends.  He had four well-updated and voluminous dossiers labeled with the name of each member of the Gang, each filled with his diligent notes on their behavior and insights into their individual pathologies.  Dennis enjoyed making these records, cataloging his friends' every idiosyncrasy and fault.  Not only did it give him the opportunity to put his bachelor's in psychology to use, but it also served as a handy reminder of how much better he was than the people he hung around with.

Still, on the rare, very rare occasions when he felt the urge to think about himself and his life, there was a fifth dossier marked with his name hidden inside a locked briefcase.  Dennis would get it out and stare down at the letters D-E-N-N-I-S, a shudder running through him.  Biting his lip, he'd slowly trail his fingers down the dossier's worn spine.  His breathing would quicken and a strange, cottony taste would fill his mouth.  Then, like ripping off a band-aid, he'd flip it open to gaze down at the contents with a growing feeling of dread.

Unlike the neat, orderly notes he kept for the others, the notes in this folder had no organized format.  The handwriting was sloppy and strained-looking, as everything he wrote in here he scribbled in a frenzied dash. Easier to expel the information from his system and have it put away, out of sight.  Often, he didn't even look down to see what he was writing when he took his notes, so that words veered off the allotted lines and crashed into each other like cars in a bad traffic accident.  Dennis would look down upon them with a beer bottle in hand, clutching it in the way that children clutch onto stuffed animals when they're afraid.

He'd sit there, holding the bottle with the file in front of him, and the minutes would tick by.  Once, a whole half hour passed with him doing nothing, trapped in that frightened stasis like an insect in amber, whatever incident that had triggered his coming here echoing over and over in his mind.  Then he'd take his first drink from the bottle, swallow, and begin to read.   


End file.
